The Visitors
by DuncanIdaho2014
Summary: A UFO descends on Winterfell a week after the discovery of the wolf pups. From it emerge a strange and otherworldly people, who claim to have no ill intentions and freely offer gifts. How will the Game of Thrones be affected by the introduction of aliens?
1. Chapter 1

**Inspired by 'Event Horizon Book 1: Autumn's Frontier', but very different in execution. About the only thing the same is Westeros being visited by people of Earth. Just felt like posting it, not sure I'll continue it.**

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The great keep of Winterfell was a bustling hive of activity. On top of the usual organized chaos involved with running the seat of the North's power, preparations were being made to host the King himself and his sizeable retinue. House Stark had always been good at managing resources and weathering hard times, always remembering their family motto of 'Winter is Coming'. At any given time, the castle had enough stored away to feed its inhabitants and that of the nearby townsfolk for three years. However, by even the most conservative estimate, the King would be arriving with at least a hundred men. And these were Southron men, made glutinous by a long summer and full of the self-importance of the royal court. They would expect feasts, not bare-bones meals meant to appease hunger rather than beat it into submission. The King's party were likely to consume in a day what would normally feed all of Winterfell for two weeks.

Livestock were being herded in from nearby towns and the households of minor lords. Barrels of ale and wine were being counted in the cellar with more called for from any tavern in easy reach. Squires labored to polish armor and weapons to a gleaming shine. Stablehands brushed steeds' coats to a rich gloss while blacksmiths toiled away making new shoes. Women dusted and washed great tapestries that had hung untouched for years. Knights and men-at-arms worked on formation and maneuvers, determined to impress with their discipline. Jugglers, singers, and other entertainers were already practicing in the town outside the gates, preparing for a performance worthy of the Lord of the Seven Kingdoms. The cries of animals and the banging of metal mixed with the din of voices calling out to be heard over all the other voices.

"It's only been a week," muttered Lord Eddard Stark, Warden of the North and foster brother to Robert Baratheon, the reason for all this clamor. "We've almost a month more of all this to look forward too. And then the madness will really start."

"It cannot be helped," said Catelyn, his lady wife and formerly of House Tully. With her flaming hair and sky-blue dress, she made a sharp contrast to his black furs and dull coloring. They walked unimpeded through the courtyard, the smallfolk and vassals making way for their lord and lady. Even as they talked, they gave nods and smiles to those around them. Ned believed that the man people served should never be a stranger and made a point of being seen and asking about his people's work. When Catelyn first arrived in the North, she preferred to issue orders from an office based on figures on paper. But she'd since come to see that there was something to watching the action happen in front of you and seeing faces light up when you took notice, so she now joined him on his walks.

Catelyn paused to give a kind of word of encouragement to a girl patiently dipping wicks into melted wax to make candles. A fair percentage of the King's party were bound to be literate and mayhaps desire to read during the night. She continued her conversation with her lord husband after returning the girl's beaming smile. "The King shall expect and deserve a king's welcome. Better to overprepare and be admired for our hospitality than to underprepare and risk his ire."

"Robert would be content with a full tankard and a spot by the fire. It's the rest of them we have to go to all this trouble for," Ned countered.

Catelyn suppressed a sigh. She adored Ned, but he was definitely a Northman. He simply didn't understand the point of all the ceremonies and pandering of the court. And he didn't even think that the boy he once knew and the king on his way could possibly be two different people. The North may be resolute and unchanging from year to year, but in the South change flowed as fast as the rivers of the Trident. Just because Ned hadn't changed all these years, it didn't follow that Robert hadn't as well.

"They are accustomed to a certain standard of luxury, my love. The closer we come to meeting their expectations, the less trouble for us all," she said, continuing her earlier point. "By the time they arrive, Winterfell should feel no different than King's Landing."

Ned grimaced with distaste at the very thought of his ancestral home sharing any resemblance with, in his own words, "that rat nest we call a capital". Catelyn tried not to giggle. His frown turned more somber and he said in a whisper, barely heard over the bustle around them, "If he's coming this far north, there can only be one reason."

Cat too suspected there was much more to this visit than a desire to see an old friend on the King's part. With Jon Arryn's recent death, the position of Hand of the King was now vacant. Cat personally thought it a great honor and opportunity to advance their family. Their own daughter Sansa might be Queen one day, if she drew the crown prince's eye. And there would no doubt be consequences to denying the King after he'd gone to the trouble of asking in person. But she also knew Ned had no desire for any more power or responsibility than had already been thrust upon him with his father's and brother's deaths. In the end, it was his decision to make.

"You can always say no, Ned."

Ned gave her a grateful smile, and she felt her heart warm. He may not have been her original intended, but she couldn't imagine life without him now. "Let us get through the preparations for his arrival. Then I can worry about what he might say. Come, Jory wants us to review the men he's picked for the honor guard. They must leave today if they're to have any hope of meeting Robert before he reaches Moat Cailin."

The two changed course towards the armory and guard's hall. When they drew near, they found all five of their children in the same area. Each of them was accompanied by their new 'pets', though Catelyn felt that was far too gentle a word for such beasts. She'd had strong reservations against letting her children near an animal as dangerous a direwolf, even if it was just a newborn pup. But she'd been unable to resist the pleading and the longing she'd seen in each of their eyes. So far, the direwolves had proved remarkably well-behaved. None of the children had been injured, and the other dogs of the castle gave them a wide berth. Robb was sparring with Theon Greyjoy, his wolf watching patiently from the side. Arya, Bran, and Rickon were all chasing each other, giggling and shouting like the children they were, their wolves barking and jumping in their wake. Sansa sat off to the side, refined and ladylike as always, pulling a brush through her own wolf's fur. Out of the corner of her eye, Catelyn saw her husband's bastard, Jon Snow, swinging his sword at a training post. His own pup, an albino that never seemed to make a sound, sat at his master's feet.

Cat felt her mouth twist at the very sight of the boy. She'd never liked him. Or perhaps it was better to say she'd never liked what he represented: Eddard Stark being unfaithful. Still, she could have forgiven Ned for fathering a dozen bastards while fighting in Robert's Rebellion (they had barely known each other before he left her with Robb quickening in her womb), so long as those bastards stayed out of sight and unacknowledged. Jon Snow was far more than just acknowledged. He was treated as all but equal to his trueborn siblings. They considered him a brother. And that was something Cat could not stand. It was made all the worse by the fact that Jon looked more a Stark than Robb, the true heir to Winterfell. But none of her arguments had ever swayed Ned, and she was not about to start again now.

Her brooding and all other thoughts fled her head as all of a sudden Winterfell seemed to explode with noise.

"By the Seven!"

"Others take me!"

"Fucking hells!"

"The moon is falling!"

More than one woman screamed out high in terror.

Catelyn's eyes jumped to her children. Robb had dropped his sword. Even as Theon Greyjoy seized the opening to knock him down, his eyes remained locked on something behind Catelyn. The three youngest had stopped what they were doing to gape and point. Sansa had covered her mouth to muffle her own shriek. The pups all had their hackles raised.

With a feeling of dread in her heart, Cat turned to see what had affected her babes and the rest of Winterfell so.

What she saw very nearly made her faint.

A great white orb was falling from the sky. Yet even as Catelyn watched with disbelieving eyes, the fall slowed until the large sphere simply hung there in the air. She saw no wings or any other obvious means of flight. All the same, the sphere did not move from a spot one hundred feet above Winterfell. A man standing atop the tallest tower might have been able to reach out and touch it, but the orb was nowhere near it. As seconds passed with no sign that it would begin falling again, the Lady Stark took the time to examine this orb that was unlike anything she'd ever seen. Contrary to what some of the men were shouting, it was not the moon. The moon had craters and mountains and was made from some kind of stone, as Catelyn had seen herself one night looking through Maester Luwin's far-eye. It was also a great deal larger. This object, whatever it was, was perfectly smooth and round. She could not see a single imperfection on it wherever she looked. It gleamed in the weak northern sunlight like some kind of metal, though none that Cat had ever seen. Were the courtyard to clear of men, it could likely touch the ground and not reach any of the walls.

Even as Cat noted these details, part of her mind seemed stuck on the fact that the orb was _floating_. No matter how she blinked or focused her eyes, the sight remained the same. In defiance of every other object that was pulled down to the ground, the orb did not move from its spot in the open air. As she stared, someone loosed an arrow at it. The lethal projectile closed the distance quickly to hit whatever this strange thing was. The arrow fell back to the ground in splinters. A few more were fired in the space of a few seconds. All of them were similarly destroyed. Whatever substance composed this object, it was incredibly strong.

"HOLD YOUR FIRE!" Ned bellowed from next to her. Only he was not Ned, he was Lord Eddard Stark. His voice carried throughout the yard and perhaps the whole castle and keep. "MEN OF WINTERFELL, HOLD YOUR FIRE! I GAVE NO ORDER TO ATTACK! TAKE HOLD OF YOURSELVES!"

The men were shaken from their fear and shock by the sound of their lord's voice. The few that held bows lowered them, vague looks of shame on their face. Those that had drawn swords brought them down, but they did not sheathe them. Catelyn looked to her children again as Ned called out further commands, bringing Winterfell back to some kind of order. Robb had come back to his feet and was looking to his father for instruction, though his eyes kept drifting back to the orb. Sansa was cuddling her wolf in muted terror, though she was no longer screaming. Bran and Rickon had moved to Jon's side, she noted, and seemed torn between hiding behind his legs and appearing unafraid. Arya was hastily dropping a rock, no doubt intending to lob it at the orb just as the men had fired their arrows. That girl was too fearless for her own good. Theon Greyjoy was swearing off to the side, a look of angry confusion on his face.

"Greyjoy, enough with that filth! Robb, take the children inside!" Catelyn ordered, coming back to herself. She was the Lady of Winterfell, and she was to be obeyed. And she wanted her children safe inside until whatever was going on resolved herself.

"I should be here with Father," he protested. But he was still just a boy, not a man, and his defiance withered in the face of his mother's ire.

"Your father and I can handle this. You must protect your brothers and sisters. Now get them inside!"

"I don't wanna leave! I want to see what's going on!" Arya called out, eyes blazing brighter than Robb's ever had.

Mother give her patience, Catelyn could have taken Arya over her knee right then and there. "This is not up for discussion. All of you get indoors, NOW! So help me, Arya…"

"Look!" Bran called out, pointing at the object.

Catelyn turned again. At a point on the orb closest to the ground, the surface was moving smoothly as water. An opening perhaps ten paces across appeared. The innards of the sphere were shrouded in darkness. Catelyn tensed, even as the yard once again exploded in noise. But Ned maintained order, and the men did not succumb to panic once more.

All of Winterfell seemed to hold its breath, waiting for whatever was coming next.

The last thing Cat expected was for people to emerge.

There were nine of them, five men and four women. They all stood on a flat metal disk that seemed to float the same way as the orb. The men and women were paired: two in red, two in grey, two in green, and two in blue. The final man wore white, and the rest seemed arranged behind him with some deference. Their clothes were like none she'd ever seen, hugging the whole body with no visible seam or join, leaving only the hands, feet, and head free. Some small part of her felt scandalized at seeing the women's bodies so fully displayed, but that part was lost in the sheer amazement and confusion of seeing people standing on a flying circle of metal. They were all different builds and colors; the man in red had the ebony skin of the Summer Islands, while the couple in blue seemed to hail from far off Yi Ti. The man in white was the strangest in appearance: being totally hairless and having skin almost as white as the snow that clung to the ground. The disc descended until it came to a stop a few inches above the ground of the courtyard, never touching the earth.

Then the man in white called out, in strangely accented but perfectly understandable Common Tongue, "Greetings! We come in peace. May we speak with your leader?"

Catelyn felt as if all reason had abandoned the world and she was living one of Old Nan's fantastic stories. Her eyes turned to Ned. He presented a strong front for the men, but she knew her husband. He was tense, wary, as close to fear as he would allow himself. His eyes met hers. A thousand words passed between them without need for speech. Then Ned turned away and walked forward. With a gesture of his hand, none of the men followed him. He kept one hand on Ice belted at his side, but did not draw it. He came to a spot a few steps away from the disc and the people upon it. Ned had to look up slightly to meet the eyes of the one in white.

"I am Eddard of House Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North. I speak for these men."

"Greetings, Eddard of House Stark. Then it is with you that we shall discuss the terms of our visit. But first, I am sure you have many questions. Please ask them." The man in white did not move his hands, or shift his weight, or any of the dozen tiny things men do when meeting each other. Other than tilting his head to meet Ned's eyes, he had not moved at all.

Catelyn had so many questions that her head was swimming with them. In Ned's place, she couldn't have settled on one to ask first. But he was calm and resolute, and settled back on the basic rules of courtesy. "Who are you?"

"I am Prophet. These are the crew of my ship: Set, Brunhild, Solomon, Minerva, Vivaan, Harriet, Lao Zi and Inari." The man, Prophet, named the men and women behind him in order, each nodding as he said them. Set was the man in red with ebony skin. His head was bald but he had a small beard. He was easily the tallest man Catelyn had ever seen, towering over even Hodor, Old Nan's simple-minded great-grandson. Brunhild was the woman in red. Her head reached her companion's shoulder, which still made her remarkably tall for a woman, and had the coloring of the North to her. But her hair was shorter than even Ned's, and a blonde somewhere between a Lannister and a Targaryen. Solomon, the man in grey, would not have looked out of place in the Reach. His beard and hair were of a length, reaching slightly past his shoulders, and his green eyes stood out against his tanned skin. Minerva had more of a Dornish coloring, brown eyes and amber skin, and her hair was grey as her strange garment. Vivaan, the man in green, bore some resemblance to an Essosi merchant Catelyn had once seen who hailed from Slaver's Bay. His black hair was cut short, he was clean shaven, and he was the shortest of the group. Harriet, as far as Catelyn could tell, was colored like she had a Summer Islander as a father or grandfather and Westerosi for the rest. Her hair grew in strange curls, hovering about her head like a black cloud. She had a great many freckles across her cheeks, which gave her a cheerful appearance even when her face was impassive. Lao Zi and Inari, the two in blue, were both of a height with black hair and angular eyes. He had a mustache that drooped past his chin and hair pulled back in a tail. Her hair reached all the way to her waist, and seemed to gleam like silk. While his skin had a slightly yellow tinge, hers was pale as milk. All of them seemed to be of an age where the strength and energy of youth became tempered by the wisdom of experience. No less than five-and-twenty, no more than forty.

Ned's head tilted back to regard the giant orb from which these strangers emerged. "Your… ship, you say?" he asked, his tone conveying that the structure was nothing like what came to his mind when he heard the word 'ship'.

"This is actually more akin to a skiff or boat. Our ship is considerably larger. We felt it would cause less disruption to arrive in this instead."

Catelyn gulped. Something about the words made her think that 'considerable' was not the proper word to describe the scale of this ship they claimed to crew. She could scarcely imagine the impact if some mysterious object bigger than Winterfell itself had descended from the sky rather than the orb that had.

"I see," Ned said, clearly not seeing at all. "And where is it your ship came from before you arrived here on my land?"

Prophet's eyes furrowed, the first sign of any emotion Cat had seen since his arrival. "That may be difficult for you to understand. I shall try my best to explain, but you may not want to believe me once you grasp it."

Ned's shoulders squared. "You come from the sky in a 'boat' unlike anything I have ever seen, you stand on a piece of metal that can fly, and you are dressed and carry yourselves unlike any men or women I've ever met. I am willing to believe almost anything so long as it makes some modicum of sense."

Prophet seemed to take no offense to the confrontational tilt to Ned's words. "Very well. You see the sun in the sky, yes?"

Cat saw her husband's eyes narrow. "Yes."

"And you see the stars at night?"

"Yes, but what does that have to do with anything?"

Prophet's eyes seemed to bore into Ned's. "The only difference between your sun and all those stars is that the sun is the star closest to this world."

"… What?"

Lord Stark's voice seemed to echo across the yard. Everyone had been quiet, hanging on the exchange between Ned and the apparent leader of these strange visitors. But that statement by Prophet, made as simply and assuredly as if stating his own name, shook them all to the core. The idea was… Catelyn suddenly saw what Prophet had meant when he said it would be hard to understand. It was madness, surely. But faced with that floating orb, it did not seem quite so impossible.

Prophet continued in the silence that followed. "The universe is filled with stars. There are so many that there is not a number big enough to describe how many there are. And almost every one of those stars have at least one world hovering around them. A great many of those worlds are incapable of sustaining life. But then there are worlds where life _can_ grow. Your world is one of them. Our world is another."

Ned seemed to regain himself over the course of that calm, measured explanation. "You come from another world?" he asked, incredulity seeming to war with awe and a kind of fear.

Prophet nodded. "Over one hundred of our years ago, my people learned how to build ships that can travel between stars. My crew and I used one of those ships to travel to your star, or 'sun'. And now we have come to your world."

Someone, Catelyn didn't see who, whispered "Gods," in a tremulous whisper.

Prophet looked up as if he'd heard it from that great distance. "We are not gods," he called out in a clear, carrying voice. "We are people, just like you. We simply have better tools and a greater understanding of how the universe works."

Ned seemed to gather himself. And then he asked the question that Cat was sure was on all their minds. "Why are you here?"

Prophet turned back to Ned. Something in his face or stance changed and he suddenly seemed much gentler, less distant. "We are explorers, Eddard of House Stark. We are here to explore. We are here to see all that there is to see in this world. And, if you allow us, we are here to help you. You have no idea how empty the universe truly is; how much of it is nothing but rock and fire and void. You have no idea how tiny and insignificant and rare and precious life is, when placed against that cold, dead expanse. We have come to learn all there is to learn about this new life we have found. We bring with us tools, gifts, and lessons of our people. Lessons that, if you desire, we are happy to teach. Traveling the stars is but one of the wonders our people have discovered. If you are willing, we will share them with you."

Ned seemed to be at a loss for words. Catelyn could not fault him. Despite his vehement denial, this Prophet and his crew truly seemed like gods, beings of immeasurable power descending from the heavens to grace the common man with their presence. Barely audible, she heard him ask "Why?"

Prophet grinned, and it was the grin of a grandfather asked a silly question by a child and was amused by it. "Why not? We are in a position to help you. And to my mind, capability for good and responsibility to do good are one and the same. Of course, this is only if you agree to let us stay. If you tell us to leave, then we shall leave, and we shall merely observe from afar. And again, we shall only provide these gifts if you ask for them. Our purpose, first and foremost, is to watch, to listen, and to learn. Whether we teach is entirely up to you." He paused, and then asked with a certain weight, "Are we welcome on your lands, Eddard of House Stark?"

Catelyn's thoughts raced. She could almost see Ned's shoulders bow under the weight of this decision. This was a choice that would affect everyone in the Seven Kingdoms, perhaps everyone in the Known World. It was a choice she barely understood, with far-reaching consequences. And it was a choice she could not make for him. This was his duty as Lord of Winterfell, to speak for the people of the North. She had never imagined in her most fanciful dreams he would have to make a choice like this, and she doubted he had either. How would he respond?

She should have known, that her husband was a man of honor and thus would never make the choice when it wasn't his to make. "I speak for the people of Winterfell and the kingdom of the North. But the North is but one of the Seven Kingdoms. I cannot decide for the Realm; only the King can do so. As it happens, King Robert of House Baratheon, First of his Name, is traveling here as we speak. I will agree to host you as my guests until he arrives. Whether you shall stay will be decided by him."

Prophet blinked. It struck Catelyn that it was the first time he had done so since he'd called out his first greeting. "Very well. We shall try to be good guests."

And then he stepped off the platform, and Westeros was first walked upon by a being from another world.


	2. Chapter 2

**There was at least one follow, so I felt honor bound to make at least one update. Might not be many more, if any. Who knows where my hummingbird mind will settle on for my next project? Anyway, enjoy.**

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Sansa sat stiffly in her seat. She could not remember a time when the Great Hall had been so quiet. All of Winterfell seemed to be seated, and yet the most that broke the silence was whispers and hisses. She knew, without a doubt, that this was the most somber feast she had ever attended. The tension filled the air like the charge before a Summer storm. And the reasons why were seated at the table with her.

The high table could seat sixteen. She, her siblings, her parents, and the ghostly Prophet occupied one side, the 'captain' of these 'Visitors' (as they referred to themselves) in a place of honor at her lord father's right hand. The diverse, colorful, and alien members of his crew sat facing them, backs to the rest of the hall. Still, Sansa could not shake the intuition that they were aware of everything in the room.

The Orb, that strange egg-like _thing_ from earlier, had departed once the Visitors had all stepped off their flying platform. It had disappeared into the sky, vanishing from view. The vehicle, according to Prophet, was capable of piloting itself, and was returning to their ship that could sail the stars, supposedly hidden on the other side of the _moon_.

The Visitors had gone with Father to his solar, where more precise terms and rules for their 'visit' had been discussed. While they were sequestered, the whole castle had become rife with speculation and rumors, the simple exchange in the yard twisted and magnified a hundred times over. Sansa could forgive the smallfolk for their lack of propriety. She had witnessed it from only a few yards away and could scarcely believe what she had seen and heard.

The Sun was a star. The Sun was just a star, and the Known World was not the only world. They were not alone. There were others out there. And the others had come. Not to trade or wage war, merely to 'visit'.

It was the stuff of myths, of legend, of tales so fantastic that Sansa had long since stopped believing in them.

And yet, there they were. Close enough for her to touch. Not that she would, she wouldn't dare be so presumptuous.

The feast had been declared late in the evening, and yet all had come to attend. Those unfortunate enough to be duty-bound to miss it would no doubt have every detail regaled to them by a dozen others. Not that there _were_ many details to report. It had been a solid ten minutes, and Sansa noticed that few had even touched their food.

Prophet spoke. "Apologies to all, for our presence souring your meal. We would not have attended had we known we would disturb you so."

His voice wasn't particularly loud, yet it seemed to carry to every corner of the room. As always, despite not exchanging a word with them, he seemed to speak for all his crew.

The crowd stirred, more hisses and exchanges prompted at the Visitor's words. Sansa felt herself color. She couldn't help but be embarrassed. However strange these people were, they were guests. This was not the best impression.

Father spoke up. "Your apology is welcome, Prophet, but unnecessary. It is hardly your fault that the smallfolk are… superstitious."

Prophet turned to face her father. "We are the ones that made such a spectacle with our entrance. We could have been much subtler in our approach. We chose a course that would inspire awe and must accept the consequences."

He turned to face the crowd. "Please, do not worry for our sensibilities. We desire only your honest opinions. You fear us. It is understandable. We are strange and foreign, and you know almost nothing about us. Fear is often born from lack of understanding."

The hall was silenced, all hanging on his words.

"The best solution to ignorance is knowledge. You have questions. Please, ask them. We will answer. In turn, we hope you will answer our own. Pay no heed to worry of offending us. You have our oath to be patient and nonviolent."

Sansa gulped. Who would be the first to brave the challenge?

She should not have been surprised it was her rude, brash, reckless little sister.

"How does the big circle thing fly?!" burst out the young girl. She was perhaps the only person in all the North that was mostly excited by the Visitors' arrival.

Prophet turned to her. "There is a force that draws smaller objects to larger objects. It is the same force that pulls you to the ground when you jump. We call this force _gravity_. Our people learned how to manipulate it. The transport you saw earlier did not really fly, as you would think of it. It is more that it stopped falling, and then fell upwards."

The explanation was simple, meant for a child. It was given freely and heard by all.

As Sansa was wrapping her mind around the concept, one of the knights spoke up from the tables. "Why did your men bring their wives?"

That garnered the first response from the eight crewmembers since they landed. The woman in red, Brunhild, broke out in raucous laughter.

Prophet answered, paying no attention to his crew member's humor. "You misunderstand. None of us are married. The uniforms mark the duties and training of specific crew positions. That my crew has one man and one woman for the four groups you see is pure coincidence."

"You let women serve on your ship?" the man asked, incredulous.

"Our society is built on an idea which, roughly translated, means 'rule by blind merit'. Where we come from, on our world, all are considered equal. Race, wealth, sex, gender, all are disregarded. One is judged only on their capabilities and actions. We all start with the same opportunities. Which ones we pursue and achieve is the matter of the individual."

"In other words, we're here because we're good at our jobs!" Brunhild spoke up, turning to face the man. "I'm didn't get to where I am because I'm a woman, nor despite it. I got here because I'm Brunhild and I worked hard. Simple as that."

The man colored, unused to being addressed by a woman in such a way, even a woman so strange and different.

Set spoke up. "Perhaps a show of our capabilities is in order." His voice was so low and deep it practically grumbled.

Prophet blinked. Sansa had noticed that none of them seemed to do so often, but when they did it was almost an acknowledgment. "Very well."

Brunhild and Set stood up and turned to face each other, standing on the step between the high table and the rest of the hall. Both held out their hands. Blades appeared in their hands, coalescing from some strange black dust that leaked out of their hands. Brunhild wielded a longsword even bigger than Ice, while Set had one in each hand, with a curving crescent-moon shape.

Sansa was not the only one to gasp. Others cried out.

Prophet spoke up. "The weapons you see are composed of something we call 'utility fog'. Imagine thousands upon thousands of bricks, each smaller than a fly, that can move and rearrange themselves on command. We can construct all manner of objects from this fog, from simple things like these swords to entire buildings." Prophet turned to Father. "With your permission, Set and Brunhild will demonstrate their fighting prowess for your entertainment and their exercise. Is this acceptable to you, Lord Eddard of House Stark?"

Sansa watched her father eye Brunhild with some hesitance, looking from her to the towering Set. Sansa scanned the other Visitors' faces. Most of them seemed to pay no attention to what was going on behind them, though the strangely colored girl named Harriet had an amused grin on her face. "If the two wish to duel, that is their right. You have my leave."

Prophet nodded, turning to the two combatants. "A brief showcase, please. Nothing… excessive."

The two gave no outward acknowledgment. They simply _moved_.

Sansa would never watch the men drill in the yard the same way ever again.

Brunhild and Set moved like lightning, arms and legs blurring as they moved. The sound of metal clashing against metal rang out so many times so fast it was like the echo of thunder. It wasn't combat, it was a dance. A dance of fury and sword and grace. They both wielded their blades as if they weighed no more than feathers, swinging and chopping and deflecting faster than Sansa could see.

Perhaps Barristan Selmy in his prime or the notorious Kingslayer Jaime Lannister could fight at this level. But Sansa had never seen such skill in person before. It terrified her. And the fact that one of the fighters was a woman and was holding up against a man bigger than any Sansa had ever seen disturbed her. Women weren't meant to fight like that.

It simply drove home a simple point: these Visitors, these _people_ , were not like them.

Prophet spoke up after the fight went on for five minutes with no clear victor. "Enough."

Both stopped mid-swing, going from blazing motion to calm stillness in the space of a blink. The blades they wielded crumbled as if they were made of sand, the dust dissolving into the air. Sansa noted that neither Brunhild or Set were sweating. Did they not share this simple trait in common with the people of this world, or was the display they'd given simply that trivial compared to their true might? Sansa couldn't decide which answer she'd prefer.

There was pure silence in the hall, until Arya whooped. "That was fucking awesome!"

"ARYA!" Mother screamed, but it was lost as the hall filled with applause. The men stomped and hollered and hooted, declaring their appreciation for the once-in-a-lifetime show. Brunhild and Set both gave small bows to the crowd, before returning to their seats as if nothing had happened.

"Well, that was… something to see," Father said when the clamor had died down.

"I hope this makes clear to all that Brunhild is a very competent fighter. Recognizing that there are differences between our cultures regarding women, I hope all here would acknowledge her hard-earned skill and her position as Security Officer on our crew," Prophet spoke again, his voice again carrying to everyone in the room despite not seeming to raise volume. "Are there any more questions?"

The ice, as they say, was broken. "What do the rest of you do?" Robb asked. "If Ser Set and Lady Brunhild are knights, what about the others of your crew?"

"As you know, red uniforms symbolize Security. Grey demarks Interpersonal Relations. Solomon and Athena are something like courtiers or politicians, trained in navigating social and legal situations as well as pacifying and sorting out conflicts. Green is for Medical. Vivaan and Harriett are healers, equipped to treat any injury or illness, either for the crew or the people of the worlds we visit. Blue indicates Science and Technology. Lao Zi and Inari are akin to maesters or engineers, tasked with maintaining our tools and our ship and learning of the local knowledge and workings." Prophet nodded to each member of his crew as he explained their role.

"Why do none of you talk?" Bran asked innocently.

Solomon, who was seated opposite Sansa's little brother, spoke up for the first time, with a pleasant smile on his lips. "We can hear each other's thoughts, so we don't have to talk to each other. We let Prophet do most of the talking with other people because he likes the sound of his own voice."

This little tidbit sent the smallfolk rearing.

"You hear thoughts?"

"Witchcraft!"

"SILENCE!" Father roared, in his 'Lord Stark' voice. "How dare you insult our guests?"

The people were mostly cowed, though Sansa still heard angry and fearful mutterings near the back.

Prophet spoke up. "To clarify, we cannot read _your_ thoughts, only each other's. _Telepathy_ , or communication by thought, is one of the abilities granted to us by our tools. We each have a small device implanted in our brains that interprets thought and passes it on to others with similar devices."

"So, the brain _is_ the source of thought," Maester Luwin muttered to himself.

"Why would you do a thing like that?" one of the men asked.

Harriet turned and smiled at the man. "Why not, silly? It's easier and faster to talk with our heads than with our mouths. Most of the people on our world have some form of 'mind link'."

The man blushed, taken with the girl's beauty and cute attitude. Sansa had the alarming notion that she and Arya would get along.

"If you think about it, language is just another tool. A way to form, shape, and communicate one's thoughts. Our people found a better tool in direct linking of minds through technology. It is our preference, but we recognize that it can be discomforting to other people used to verbal communication. Perhaps an example would be best." Prophet turned to Solomon. The man's smile faded and his shoulders hunched. "I just told Solomon that I do not appreciate his little joke at my expense, and that his 'chores', for lack of a better word, have been doubled."

"How do you know the Common Tongue?" Mother asked next. "I find it doubtful that your native language and ours are one and the same?"

Prophet nodded to her. "A good question, Lady Stark. The answer might give you some discomfort. Do you still wish to hear it?"

Sansa watched as her mother hesitated before nodding.

"Our ship arrived to this star system 29 of your days ago. As is standard procedure, we sent sensing machines to each world surrounding the star. When we detected life on this world, we sent more in. Imagine eyes and ears smaller than the you can see, drifting in the air and on laying on the ground like dust. Through these instruments, we gathered images, audio, and a great deal of other data from every corner of this world. Quite simply, we've been watching and listening to everything that has happened in this world for 29 days. On our ship, there is a thinking machine. It is both faster and smarter than everyone in this room combined in terms of raw thinking power. It learned the Common Tongue and the other languages of this world the same way a babe learns. Over time, it attached sound to meaning, based on the context of the word used."

Maester Luwin leaned over his plate. "This… thinking machine accomplished in a month what takes a child years to do? Learning a language with no basis of reference? And you learned it from it teaching you in the even less time?"

Prophet turned to Maester Luwin, a small smile on those pale lips. "Actually, the machine got a basic grasp of the Common Tongue within 17 of your hours. It spent a few more of your days refining it before being satisfied it had it correct. And then the machine sent the knowledge directly into our minds. We learned in a matter of seconds."

Maester Luwin seemed blown away by this concept, much as Sansa was. "It just… sent the knowledge into your minds? You didn't have to take lessons or anything?" she finally spoke up. "Lord Prophet?" she tacked on, remembering her manners.

"Please relax, Sansa. I am no lord. If you feel the need to give me a title, 'Captain' will do," the albino smiled at her. "And yes. It's one of the advantages of a mind link and _telepathy_. Years of learning can be copied and sent directly into the mind, where it is assimilated and grasped as if the person had gone through the learning themselves. It revolutionized education on our world when it was perfected. Children, and indeed most adults, learn as much and as fast as they can physically handle the load. A child your age on our world could be wiser and more knowledgeable than Maester Luwin if they so desired." Prophet gave a little laugh. "Though most have a phase where they think they've learned all they ever need to and refuse lessons in favor of doing other, more pleasurable activities."

"Well, that's one thing we have in common," Father joked, casting an eye at Arya and some of his other children. Not Sansa, she was as studious as they come.

"Speaking of things we have in common," Theon Greyjoy spoke up, from where he was seated at the end of a lower table, the highest honor he could have without being at the high table as usual. "Do you lot have cocks and cunts like the rest of us?"

Sansa could have slapped him. Well, once she recovered from hearing such coarse words. How dare he ask such a vulgar question? He'd clearly had more than just one cup of wine.

Undaunted, Prophet answered. "As far as we can tell, the men and women of our world share similar genitalia to the men and women of your world. Unusually similar, actually. It's quite rare we find a people so close in form to ours. The people of other worlds come in a variety of different shapes and sizes."

"Can you show us?" Rickon asked, voice alight with all the excitement and curiosity of a boy of three.

Prophet nodded. He held out his palm, and that same black dust (Fog, Sansa reminded herself) formed a shape. It was strange, Sansa would almost say unnatural, looking like some kind of strange creature that had washed up on the beach. "This is a _Heptapod_ , which translates roughly as 'seven feet'. They were actually the first people of another world we came into contact with."

"It does indeed look… different than we do." Mother had an odd hitch to her voice, and her eyes were very wide.

The Fog dissipated, the figurine dissolving once Rickon got bored with it.

"Sing us a song from your world!" one of the knights called out. "This is a feast, there should be song!"

Prophet paused, as did all of the crew. Sansa realized now that they were talking with their thoughts together. Those long pauses could be conversations longer and richer than any she'd heard for all she knew.

The crew all stood and turned, as Prophet came to his feet. "This is a song from a region of our world very similar to the North. We hope you enjoy it. The translation may not be perfect, but hopefully the tune and meaning stay clear."

There was a pause. And then the Visitors sang, their voices taking the parts of instruments in places, to make a hollow but beautiful music.

" _Of all the money that ever I had, I spent it in good company_

 _And all the harm that ever I've done, alas it falls to none but me._

 _And all I've done for want of wit, to memory now I can't recall_

 _So fill to me the parting glass, good night and joy be with you all._

 _So fill to me the parting glass, and drink a toast whatever befall_

 _Then gently rise and softly call, good night and joy be with you all._

 _Of all the comrades that ever I had, they're sorry for my going away_

 _And all the sweethearts that ever I had, they'd wish me one more day to stay._

 _But since if fell unto my lot, that I should rise and you should not_

 _Come fill to me the parting glass, good night and joy be with you all._

 _So fill to me the parting glass, and drink a toast whatever befall_

 _Then gently rise and softly call, good night and joy be with you all._

 _A man may drink and not be drunk, a man may fight and not be slain_

 _A man may court a pretty girl, and perhaps be welcomed back again._

 _But since it has so sought to be, a time to rise and a time to fall_

 _Come fill to me the parting glass, good night and joy be with you all_

 _Good night and joy be with you all!_ "

Sansa realized she was crying. Sobbing really. She'd never heard a song so lovely.

Whatever else might come from these Visitors, Sansa decided she wouldn't fear them. Nothing that could produce something so beautiful could be scary, right?

* * *

 **The rendition I'm thinking of is by Celtic Woman for "The Parting Glass". Check them out on YouTube, I actually do cry when I listen sometimes.**


End file.
